


You Don't Love Me (Big Deal)

by aphytick



Category: EXO (Band), K-pop
Genre: Angst, Heartbreak, M/M, One-Sided Relationship, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-02-25 04:35:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2608676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphytick/pseuds/aphytick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chanyeol had always thought that he was smarter than he let on. He was loud and awkward, sure, his personality verging on obnoxious and grating when he forgot to keep it in check, but he never thought that he was stupid.</p><p>That is, until he met Kim Jongin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Starring Role

**Author's Note:**

> This was written at the start of this year, but every time I went back to it I disliked it a little more and lost the will to finish. But now I'm thinking to myself "why not get it out of the way?" Note, Jongin is supposed to be a pretty damn awful guy in this, but this doesn't reflect how I feel about the actual Jongin at all!
> 
> Please alert me of any spelling/grammatical errors, and also if I accidentally put a stage name in somewhere.

Chanyeol had always thought that he was smarter than he let on. He was loud and awkward, sure, his personality verging on obnoxious and grating when he forgot to keep it in check, but he never thought that he was stupid.

That is, until he met Kim Jongin.

He was captivating, to sum it up in one word. One second he could look soft and vulnerable, like the ideal boy next door, the type of boy you’d bring home to your mother because you knew she would approve, yet in the next he acted like a man who could kiss you and leave you without any indication that he knew you existed at all. Chanyeol had watched his every move, ever since the night he first saw him. Not because he wanted to, not because he chose to but because, despite his best efforts, he simply couldn't look away.

That was his first mistake.

Baekhyun had chosen this place because it was new to them. They had done the circuit before, had been ever since they left school, but always skipped over places like this. Places with walls that dripped with neon and bars that drew everyone to the centre of the room, but this time Baekhyun had complained that he was bored with the usual clubs they frequented and had decided to try out a place called Black Pearl. Chanyeol knew better than to argue.

The walls were black granite, glinting under every pass of the strobe lighting. The bar was a huge circle in the middle of the floor with deep cherry red surfaces and cold, blue light illuminating the mirrors around it. The place could have been almost clinical if it weren't for the dancing bodies taking up every available space on the floor, writhing and coiling to music with no lyrics, to sounds that pounded through the floor and up through the bones.

Chanyeol ducks under the door upon entering and makes a beeline for the bar first, trying to pass through the crowd without making too much of a scene. The club was stifling, and with every brush of skin Chanyeol felt on his palms as he tried to gently push his way through, he felt the sweat of those who had long since lost their restraint. With a shuffling of his limbs, Chanyeol threw himself heavily on to one of the stools, turning to Baekhyun as his friend sat down beside him.

The look on Baekhyun's face mirrored his own, an expression that said that maybe this place was too much, and maybe it wasn't exactly their scene, but they were here now so they might as well enjoy themselves.

Three drinks in and Baekhyun was getting restless, leaving over to tap Chanyeol on the shoulder to make sure he could come close enough to hear.

"I'm going on the floor." He says. "Are you coming?"

Chanyeol laughs. "Me? You've seen me dance, Baekhyun, I think I'm better here."

Baekhyun grins at him before pushing himself off the stool and dropping the five centimetres to the floor. He waves his hand at Chanyeol before sauntering off the find an unoccupied space on the dance floor. Chanyeol ordered himself another drink and tapped his fingers idly on the bar to the bass of the track in the background, weighing up the pros and cons of leaving now without Baekhyun, or waiting until his friend was tired and bored enough to leave when he saw him.

It didn’t happen like it did in movies. The crowd didn't suddenly clear around him, a single spotlight beaming down to illuminate a lone figure making shapes on the floor. Rather, he demanded space to be made for him and judging by the slack-jawed expressions on many faces Chanyeol’s eyes locked on, it was a difficult demand to refuse.

He wasn’t dancing with anyone, Chanyeol notices that first. That isn’t to say plenty of people around him weren’t trying, but the way he moved made it seem like he thought he was above them, like he didn’t notice they were even there at all. In his mind, he was the only person in the world. The only person the music played for.

Chanyeol didn’t even notice he’d left the bar until he bumps in to a girl that is almost as tall as he is in heels. She shoots him a glare that barely softens after his frantically mouthed apology, but his clumsiness is soon forgotten as she turned away to resume her appreciation of the figure in the middle of the throng.

Magnetism. That’s what Baekhyun would call it later, after Chanyeol tells him what happened that night, but before he begins to hate him. He would whistle appreciatively through his teeth, because he couldn’t have known then. Wouldn’t have known how much this one man would affect his best friend, and how much destruction he would leave behind when he was gone. Magnetism.

It’s like he exists in a vacuum. Chanyeol finds that as he is drawn close (not by choice, he tells himself. He can’t help it.) everyone else seems to melt around his periphery. He doesn’t know what he’s trying to achieve, but when he catches the gaze of the figure on the floor he feels pride bubble in his chest. He looks at Chanyeol, and for some reason that feels like a badge of honour.

He smirks at how awkward Chanyeol’s dancing is, and Chanyeol doesn’t blame him because of the comparison, the sheer gulf because Chanyeol’s badly timed bobbing and his raw, almost primal moves that were almost too big for how in control he seemed.

He turns, and seems to dance _at_ Chanyeol, almost daring him to make a fool of himself and something about the arrogant pull of his mouth makes Chanyeol want to obey, but he bows out, trying to shake himself to regain his senses.

It must be the heat. The lights. One too many, perhaps, maybe the alcohol has a higher percentage in places like this. Chanyeol bows and almost kicks himself after for doing so, and goes to get off the dance floor but he feels a pull at his belt loops and suddenly Chanyeol figures he has one of two options .

He could push this guy away and leave, go back to his empty apartment alone and regret it for the next two weeks at least. Or he could make something of this. He’s not drunk enough to be bolder, or to keep up with the guy but he’s just about buzzed enough to almost enjoy himself, to enjoy whatever game the other guy is playing.

He would look sweet if it weren’t for the way his lips twisted, if it weren’t for the way he made it seem like he knew what Chanyeol’s choice would be before Chanyeol did. Chanyeol steps closer.

The height difference isn’t as extreme as it has been with other people, there only had to be a centimetre or two in Chanyeol’s favour, but it seems like much more when the guy – the _guy._ Chanyeol thinks he should ask him his name, but he knows better in places like this. Names are treated like secrets and the only thing that matters is what the hands can touch – when he pulls Chanyeol down and pushes his lips harshly against the swell of Chanyeol’s own.

Again, Chanyeol figures he has one of two options. He could push this guy away and leave, go back to his empty apartment _alone_ and regret it for a month at this rate. Or he could let this happen, whatever this was.

 Chanyeol wasn’t normally the type to hook up with nameless strangers in clubs but this guy was clearly an expert judging by the way he was working his tongue down Chanyeol’s throat, taking advantage of the chatter going on his Chanyeol’s own head that was distracting him.

 His mouth wasn’t as soft as it looked, but Chanyeol figured that nothing about this guy was as it looked. His fingers had left Chanyeol’s belt hoops, instead opting to anchor themselves on the back of Chanyeol’s neck, hands folded over each other securely to prevent Chanyeol from leaving. As if he could.

“Who’s your friend?”

Chanyeol nearly dislocates something as he shoots back from the guy in shock. Baekhyun's grinning at him the way that he did when he discovered something particularly amusing.

“Uhhhh” Chanyeol begins, eyes darting between his friend and the guy who still has his hands on Chanyeol’s skin, index finger idly drawing patterns on the back of Chanyeol’s neck. “This. This is...”

“Jongin.” The guy says, and his voice is somehow lighter than Chanyeol expected.

Chanyeol turns and gives a sheepish grin to Baekhyun. “This is Jongin.”

“Park Chanyeol.” Baekhyun whistles. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you pulled. I gotta go, I have an early shift tomorrow. Are you going to be alright on your own? Or, well-“

“ _Yes_ , Baekhyun.” Chanyeol near hisses, and Baekhyun laughs a little. “I’ll be fine.”

“Alright. See you when I see you.” He waves himself off, but not before telling Chanyeol not to do anything he wouldn’t do. Chanyeol could almost kick him.

Chanyeol turns to Jongin. “My best friend.” Chanyeol supplies.

“I didn’t ask.”

Chanyeol almost feels put out and slightly foolish for offering up the harmless and inconsequential information, but then he’s being yanked over to the bar with Jongin’s hand still on his neck. Jongin orders two shots, but Chanyeol attempts to refuse when they’re placed upon the countertop. The liquid glints under the cold lighting of the bar.

“I don’t really do shots.” Chanyeol says. “They kind of make me sick.”

“That’s _kind of_ the whole point of shots. Come here.” Jongin says, pulling Chanyeol closer as he picks up one of the small glasses.

He knocked it back with one swift, well practised moment but doesn’t swallow it. Instead, he keeps it in his mouth, sets the glass down and then pulls Chanyeol to meet him.

Chanyeol catches on approximately a second before Jongin made his move, and opens his mouth slightly just before Jongin covers it with his own. Jongin leans forward slightly, just enough to tip Chanyeol’s head back and pass the spirits from his own mouth in to Chanyeol’s.

It burns the entire way down and tasted disgusting, but Chanyeol couldn’t bring himself to mind when Jongin’s tongue starts chasing after the alcohol. His left hand is braced on Chanyeol’s thigh as he presses in closer, fingers of his right hand moving from the back of Chanyeol’s neck to the curve of his jaw.

Chanyeol could taste every drink Jongin had mixed that night and it was all making his head spin. The music bleeds in to his ears in waves but he barely notices. Jongin pulled back, plump mouth twisted once again as he lifted the other shot he had ordered and tipped it directly in to Chanyeol’s mouth. Chanyeol swallows it without complaint, barely tasting it the second time, and Jongin’s eyes catch and track a drop that had escaped the corner of Chanyeol’s lips.

He kisses it away before mouthing his mouth to Chanyeol’s ear.

“Let’s get out of here.” He says. Chanyeol knows he didn’t whisper it, there’s no way he could have with this music this loud, but the words feel soft all the same, almost serpentine in the way the coil around Chanyeol’s ear.

He nods, barely thinking, scarcely aware of how they got from point A to B.

When they get to his apartment ( _his_ , Jongin had laughed harshly when Chanyeol had dared to ask the textbook question “my place, or yours?” Chanyeol figured it was always the other party who hosted the evening, and never Jongin) Jongin wasted no time in flattening Chanyeol against the wall of his apartment, the light switch digging in to shoulder going unnoticed.

Jongin kissed in the same way that he dances. All the attention is on him, and it’s controlled but just barely. When he rolls his hips in to Chanyeol’s, Chanyeol’s head knocks back against the plaster of his apartment wall so hard he thinks it might splinter. It hurts, but Jongin’s fingers hurt more so, digging in to his side so much Chanyeol thinks Jongin’s nails are going to split the skin.

He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about any of it. All he cares about right now is fucking Jongin, or being fucked by Jongin, whichever happened first. Chanyeol just didn’t _care_ , and that wasn’t like him, but people like Jongin didn’t come in to his life very often and this was almost entirely new territory.

Jongin has no patience, and in a move executed in a way only someone quick on their feet could manage, he has Chanyeol by the shirt and kicks his legs from under him, landing heavily on top of Chanyeol as they both hit the floor.

It hurts too, and Chanyeol can tell from how tender it already is that his shoulder is going to be mottled black and blue when he wakes up the next day, but he still doesn’t care. The only thing that matters is the way Jongin’s nails are raking along his stomach under his shirt, the look in Jongin’s eyes as he gauges what actions make Chanyeol squirm the most.

The power imbalance is huge, but Chanyeol can’t seem to make himself do anything about it. Jongin is riding Chanyeol’s leg, too far gone to even care that they’re both still fully dressed, but Chanyeol isn’t allowed to touch him. He moves when Jongin makes him, kisses Jongin when the other _lets_ him, and comes only after Jongin does, and only because Jongin brings him off.

Something about it isn’t right, the rational part of Chanyeol knows that, but if this is only a one night stand then what’s the harm in letting this guy have his way?

That was his second mistake.


	2. Beg Your Pardon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I won't end all chapters with sex. Honestly, I won't.
> 
> Shout out to junxouji on here and swordhand over on AFF for leaving comments. Multi-chapter fics are incredibly difficult for me at times, so it's nice to know my efforts aren't being totally wasted.
> 
> Please alert me of any spelling/grammatical errors, and also if I accidentally put a stage name in somewhere.

Chanyeol had never intended to go back to the Black Pearl. It was too loud for him, too hot, too much stimulation packed in to one place and not enough room to breathe or think. Some would say that was the whole point of clubbing, but as far as Chanyeol was concerned, he liked having a good time without feeling like he was on the verge of passing out at any moment. He figures that once was enough.

When Chanyeol woke up the following morning (although he couldn’t for the life of him remember going to sleep in the first place) Jongin was already gone. Of course, this was to be expected, Chanyeol knows that that is how these things go, but that doesn’t stop the inexplicable twinge in his chest letting him know that yes, maybe he is a little disappointed Jongin didn’t say goodbye.

Chanyeol pushes himself off of the floor and immediately wishes he hadn’t moved at all. His head feels like it’s trapped in a vice that’s being wound ever tighter by some vindictive force, and his mouth and throat give him the distinct impression that he had swallowed a handful of sand at some point during the night.

He doesn’t feel nauseated, and that’s always something to be thankful for, but he noted with much disgust that his shirt is clinging to him, dank and heavy with sweat, and that his underwear is clinging to him because of. well. Chanyeol decides that they could do with two runs in the rickety old washing machine in his apartment at least.

Despite every nerve in him screaming at him to reconsider, Chanyeol finally manoeuvres himself off the floor and in to his shower stall, peeling off yesterday’s clothes and balling them in his arms as he goes.  When he gets out, feeling fresher and a lot less gross and achy than he did before, he flips the switch of his electric kettle and goes to check the mail slot for letters.

The door isn’t locked. Chanyeol frowns, before muttering “asshole” under his breath. It was one thing to leave without saying anything, that Chanyeol could expect. In fact, he’d be a little concerned in anything else was the case, Jongin gave off signals that he wasn’t interested in anything with any depth and Chanyeol understood. But leaving the door unlocked in an apartment block? That was just rude.

The bruise on his shoulder takes little more than a week to fade. It goes from deep blues and even deeper purples that gave a heady jolt of pain when pressed, to sickly yellows and greens that were barely there at all. Yes, it fades relatively quickly, but the phantom touches of Jongin’s hands on his skin take even longer.

Chanyeol’s no fool. He knows that in a city this big, there is a very high possibility that he would never lay eyes on Jongin again; not in any club, and not on the streets or in normal places frequented by folk who prefer lives quieter than what the club scene has to offer. Even if he did, one night stands are made void if the person goes back for seconds, and Jongin didn’t leave the impression that he was the type.

Chanyeol briefly wonders how many other people Jongin had picked up in the same way, but he didn’t think he could count that high. Then he briefly wonders if maybe he should get himself checked sometime soon, just to be on the safe side.

Chanyeol had never intended to go back to the Black Pearl, so when Baekhyun calls him a few weeks later and suggests it, Chanyeol is a little taken aback.

“The Black Pearl? I thought you said it was too “trashy” for you.” Chanyeol makes air quotes with one hand, even though he knows Baekhyun can’t see. He has the phone balanced between his shoulder and ear, using his free hand to circle temp opportunities in that morning’s paper.

“It is. That’s exactly why I want to go back. Did you know I got three phone numbers last time, Channie? Three. That’s more than I get in a month.”

“Did any of them work?”

“That’s not the point. Although one did connect to a really nice Italian restaurant that just opened. They gave me a discount off garlic bread when I asked for Soohyun, and said it was the third time that week, you should try it.”

Chanyeol snorts. “No thanks.

Baekhyun’s attempts at getting a girl to notice him never worked too well for him, and Chanyeol does feel a little sorry for him at times, but he brought it on himself really. He laughs too loud even when he doesn’t understand what’s supposed to be funny, and maybe he tries a little too hard. Chanyeol loves him, he does, but he knows that dating him would be a nightmare. Still, that’s the fifth tip off he’s gotten to a decent restaurant, even if it was under the guise of a girl’s contact details.

“So what do you say? You’re free tonight, right?”

“Well yeah, but-“

“Great. I’ll have a cab stop by your place at ten. Who knows, maybe we’ll both get lucky this time?”

Baekhyun heaps on the wistfulness in his tone, and Chanyeol knows him well enough to know that it’s a tactic, that it’s a pity play, but Baekhyun knows Chanyeol well enough to know what he’s weak to that sort of thing.

“Fine. Fine, alright. But make it ten-thirty, I’ve got to finish this application.”

“You’re aces, Channie.” Baekhyun coos, before hanging up.

 Chanyeol laughs in to the receiver before dislodging the phone from between his shoulder and the side of his head. He set it on the table before linking his fingers, stretching his arms out in front of him until every joint and knuckle pops. Shifting until his legs are folded more comfortably under him, Chanyeol lifts the pen back off the table and taps it idly against his bottom lip.

If he goes tonight and doesn’t see Jongin, that’s fine. Maybe Baekhyun will take to the floor alone, sure, but just because Chanyeol will be alone doesn’t mean he has to be lonely. Who knows, maybe he’ll meet someone interesting who talks a whole lot more than filthy words whispered in to reddening ears at the back of sticky taxi cabs. Maybe he won’t see Jongin and if he doesn’t, he doesn’t, it’s not going to ruin his night in any way.

But maybe he will. And Chanyeol can’t lie to himself and say he’s opposed to the idea.

Baekyun arrives at 10:47pm and doesn’t even attempt to excuse himself, not even when Chanyeol cocks his head and gives his best attempt at faux-irritation. They pull up outside the Black Pearl a little over fifteen minutes later and if possible, it seems a whole lot more thriving and intimidating than before.

Two girls outside smoking eye them up appreciatively as they make their way to the bouncer-occupied alcove, but their come-hither looks quickly change when Chanyeol grins at them toothily, waggling his fingers in their general direction. They giggle behind their hands at one another, and Baekhyun punches him on the arm.

“Could you do me a favour and be a little less – _you_ for a few hours? Please?”

“I was only saying hi, Baekhyun.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot we were still in high school.” Baekhyun says, but his voice is fond. “Come on, there might be some lookers inside who _don’t_ know what a total moron you are.”

Baekhyun doesn’t head straight for the dance floor this time. Instead, he sits at the bar with Chanyeol, craning his neck every so often to see if he can find a girl who doesn’t look like she’s going to write the first numbers that come in to her head on the back of Baekhyun’s hand.

“You know, this place isn’t so bad once you get used to it.” Chanyeol mused, dunking his ice below the surface of his drink with a toothpick he found on the counter. “It’s a little loud, but it’s got a good atmosphere I guess.”

“What?!” Baekhyun yells, straining to hear over the music.

“I said –“ Chanyeol doesn’t finish, words lodging themselves firmly between his teeth.

He had been wrong. Apparently his chances of seeing Jongin again were a lot higher than he thought.

He’s dancing with a girl, his fingers tight in the material of the lycra dress at her hips, anchoring him there but his eyes wandering and lolling like he can’t quite make them focus. Every time they swivel back to the girl he has pressed up against him, Jongin grins like he’s discovering her all over again. Even from where he’s sitting, Chanyeol can see that Jongin’s mouth is swollen, and that he’s got lip gloss leaving a sticky trail from his mouth to his collar, ending in an off-colour lip print that had missed its target by a mile.

He’s clearly on something, they both are, but of course neither of them seem to care. Chanyeol almost manages to tear his eyes away from the pair of them, but then Jongin’s got his eyes on him and suddenly Chanyeol finds he’s rooted, stuck fast for reasons he can’t even begin to deliberate.

Jongin’s grin is slow coming, pulling up at one corner first as he was wont to do, before it breaks in to something that is sinister, yet all too alluring. He whispers something to the girl and she steps back, appalled, shoving him with one hand before storming off with slightly shaky steps, hiking her dress further up her thighs as she goes. Jongin doesn’t even bother watching her leave.

The bass of Chanyeol’s own heart picks up, drowning out the music thumping through the wooden floor as Jongin undeniably, purposefully makes his way to where Jongin’s sitting.

Baekhyun catches Chanyeol’s gaze and follows it. “Hey, isn’t that-“

“Yeah.” Chanyeol says, finding his mouth too dry to say much else. He thinks it’s all very silly really, but he can’t deny how affected he is when Jongin stops in front of him.

“I’m gonna borrow him for a bit, if you don’t mind.” Jongin says, vaguely in the direction of where Baekhyun is sitting. His words slur heavily, and his grip is too tight as he hauls Chanyeol off his stool before Baekhyun even has a chance to answer.

He has him by the arm and Chanyeol knows he could shake him off if he really wanted to, that he could go back to his seat and finish his drink, but just like before he weighs up both options and ends up going down the road less travelled.

Jongin hauls him in to the female bathrooms, and Chanyeol has no misconceptions about where this is going. He knows Jongin is out of it, knows that he’s probably had too much to drink mixed with something that is probably doing a lot more for him than some tequila slammers, but he can’t deny that he wants whatever Jongin is offering.

Jongin pushes past a women that is exiting one of the stalls, and she cries out indignantly before yelling “why don’t any of you use the men’s, honestly?!”

He ignores her, pushing Chanyeol in to the cubicle, the back of Chanyeol’s calves knocking against the rim of the toilet before he’s shutting the door and driving the lock home.

“ _So he does know how to lock doors_.” Chanyeol thinks to himself in passing.

Jongin kisses Chanyeol, and Chanyeol can taste artificial strawberries that he knows came from the girl’s lip gloss. It shouldn’t bother Chanyeol, but it does, and he pulls back to wipe at Jongin’s lips with his thumb before ducking down to kiss him again. The taste is still there, but it’s faint now.

When Jongin drops to his knees without any warning or ceremony, the sound Chanyeol makes is less than dignified.

“Jongin, I-“

Jongin’s eyes snap up, narrowing as they take in Chanyeol towering above him. “How do you know my name?”

Chanyeol blinks. “You told me. Or, well, you told Baekhyun – Baekhyun’s my friend – you told him last time I was here. The last time we, uh...met.”

Jongin looks like he’s having a hard time focusing on and processing Chanyeol’s words, and Chanyeol worries for a second that he’s blow it, but then Jongin snorts softly, says “whatever” under his breath, and then reaches up to unzip Chanyeol’s fly.

When he pulls Chanyeol out and starts to suck him off, Chanyeol doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with his hands. He tries to touch him as little as possible, knows instinctively and from his meagre experience that Jongin won’t like it, but it's hard.

 Jongin hollows his cheeks, pulling his head back and digs the fingers of his left hand in to Chanyeol's thigh with what feels an awful lot like spite, like misdirected anger, and when he sinks his head back down as far as he is able, Chanyeol is tipping his head back in an attempt to get a lot more air than his lungs are allowing.

Chanyeol will think back on this later, he isn’t drunk enough for things to be hazy when he gets home, and he will wonder when he started to become the type of person who did these things. He’ll wonder if all the people who said “ah, Park Chanyeol? He’s a good kid.” would still be able to say the same once they knew that nearing his mid-twenties he started becoming the type to sleep with strangers he met in clubs, and to receive intoxicated blowjobs in bathroom stalls.

What made you like this, Park Chanyeol? Or rather, who.

He doesn’t have the time or head space to worry about such things at present, though, not with the way that Jongin is fisting a spit coated hand around the rest of Chanyeol that won’t fit in his mouth.

He draws a hot line from base to tip with his tongue and Chanyeol can't stop himself from tangling his fingers in Jongin's hair, nails dragging lightly over his scalp. Jongin spares a second to glare up at Chanyeol, eyes dark and irritated before the lids give the briefest of flutters when Chanyeol involuntarily pulls on his hair the next time Jongin sucks particularly harshly.

Chanyeol tries to warn Jongin when he’s close, but he can’t suck enough air in to his chest cavity in order to make the words work, and it seems to be too much for Jongin. He throws up soon after, the vomit and the semen that never got the chance to make its way down making a particularly vile imitation of a Pollock piece on the bathroom tiles.  

Chanyeol crouches a little, trying to gauge if Jongin was in any danger. His hands are braced on the tiles, and his head is hanging so low it almost touches his chest, and Chanyeol wants to rub his back or something, but his hand stops itself half way there because he doesn’t think Jongin would appreciate it, knows Jongin won't thank him for it. Knows he isn’t _allowed._

“I’ll be back in a second.” He tells Jongin, and the look Jongin gives him from under his lashes is withering. “Don’t leave.”

Jongin grumbles in response, a vague attempt at words that he doesn’t quite manage, but Chanyeol gets his meaning anyway. He steps out of the bathroom stall, closing the door behind him and hoping that no-one tries to enter with Jongin in such a state. He gets water from a vending machine that stands guard between the doors to the women’s and men’s bathrooms, and when he gets back he places it on the shelf above the toilet.

“Drink that when you can stand up.” He tells Jongin, and Jongin laughs sharply, reaching up to knock the bottle off and on to the floor, where it bounces before settling beside him. He lifts it and after some difficulty, unscrews the lid and knocks back almost a quarter of the bottle, rinsing his teeth before spitting in to the toilet bowl.

“Are you my mother?”

“I certainly would hope not.” Chanyeol says in an attempt to lighten the leaden atmosphere between them, but his joke falls flat in the face on Jongin’s arrogance.

Jongin’s not looking at him, so Chanyeol can’t tell if his head is clearing any, but his voice certainly sounds a lot stronger when he demands that Chanyeol leaves.

Chanyeol shuffled awkwardly on his feet. “I don’t really want to leave you like this.”

“I’m not your responsibly.”

“No, I know that, but-“

“And I don’t want you around. I’ve had my fun.”

A part of Chanyeol thinks _“this is fun for you?”_ but he knows better than to question it, and he knows that their encounter has reached a stalemate.

“Alright, I’ll go.” He says, but Jongin doesn’t respond, not even in the slightest. He still has his back to Chanyeol, has taken to resting his forehead on the rim of the toilet, the hand holding the water bottle squeezing it until the plastic cracks.

Chanyeol goes to make his exit, but as an afterthought, one he'd regret probably, he puts his number in Jongin's phone which at some point had fallen out of the shallow pockets of his jeans. Jongin either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care when Chanyeol places it on the shelf above him, and he doesn’t say a word to Chanyeol as the other party leaves, which is fine. Chanyeol knows not to expect a goodbye.

He can’t find Baekhyun when he renters the main area and figures his friend had either left early again, or had tucked himself away in some corner of the club, flirting with the first girl that had so much looked in his direction. Chanyeol leaves without him, calling himself a cab.

When he reaches his apartment he double locks the door, makes the executive decision to shower in the morning, and strips to his underwear before climbing in between the sheets of his bed.

His last thoughts before he succumbs to sleep are that if Jongin doesn’t call, it’s fine, it’s not going to ruin his life in any way. It was a stupid idea anyway, Jongin either won’t notice the number is even in his contacts (although Chanyeol had noted there were a surprising few) or he will, and he will delete it, but it’s fine. If he doesn’t call, he doesn’t call.

 _“But-“_ Chanyeol thinks, smoothing his cheek in to the cold side of his pillow. “- _maybe he will_ ”.

 And Chanyeol can’t lie to himself and say he’s opposed to the idea.


	3. A Needle In the Hay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, so sorry for the extremely long, unplanned gap between chapter two and this one. Life Happens and that has to take a priority sometimes. 
> 
> If it softens the blow a little, I made a short mix that accompanies this fic which can be found here (http://8tracks.com/aphys/you-don-t-love-me-big-deal)
> 
> Again, so incredibly sorry for the delay. Thank you very much to everyone who has subscribed and especially to those who have commented so far, it means a ridiculous amount to me.

It should have ended there.

Jongin doesn’t call, or text, and Chanyeol stops looking at his phone with something that bordered on expectation after a few days, so it  _should_  have ended there.

It almost does. Chanyeol gets too busy to focus on much else in his life. He gets a call back from someone he left an application with, a theatre company owner who tells him that there’s an available spot open since one of her technicians had an accident with the ropes.

“He’s fine, fine, fine, nothing to worry about, nothing to worry about at  _all._  The safety of our staff is of utmost importance, don’t worry, don’t worry, nothing of the sort will happen to you, I’m sure. On your CV you said you used to work for the theatre department at your college, yes? All sort of behind-the-scenes trickery and jiggery-pokery, yes? Perfect, perfect,  _perfect,_  when can you start?”

The woman at the other end of the phone gives Chanyeol little time to speak, and even less time to tell her that he may have beefed up his application a little (I mean, he had only helped out for a week on his alma mater’s production of  _Oklahoma,_ hardly something to brag about), but when she tells him that it’s cash in hand and that it’s only six hours a day, five days a week, he finds it hard to say no.

It’s tough work. There’s more to it than rope pulling when the cues dictate, or shining a spotlight on the stage when the music reaches a crescendo and on his first day Chanyeol finds himself scaling a rickety ladder to unhook a curtain that had gotten snagged on the rail. It wobbles, and tilts with every step and Chanyeol begins to think that maybe the money isn’t worth his life.

His fifth night there, there’s a problem with the audio. The actor on stage who had been praised by critics for his phenomenal singing skills suddenly began to croak and warble along with the orchestra when the AR suddenly came to a stop. Even under the lights and the heavy stage make-up, the actor’s face visibly heats as the audience begin to hurl abuse.

Chanyeol peers around the curtains and he saw that there was no-one in the audio booth, that the computers and decks were all going unmanned and that the actor was seconds away from storming off stage and calling an end to his entire career. He moved as fast as his legs would take him, taking long strides to the booth in order to boot up the recording again, and just like that, the audience are satisfied.

“I don’t get paid nearly enough for this.” Chanyeol whispers to no-one in particular, blowing his bangs out of his eyes. His phone began to vibrate in his back pocket, and Chanyeol almost forgets to exit the mic-heavy booth before he answers it.

“Do you hate your job?” comes the voice, thick with the faux tone of a tele-marketer trying to sell something down the line. “Do you  _loathe_ your current employer?”

“Baekhyun-“ Chanyeol begins, laughing.

“Look no further! Your dream job is right around the corner!”

“Baekhyun, what are you  _talking_  about?”

“Okay, so listen,” Baekhyun says, dropping the impersonation “I was talking to the manager of the Black Pearl last week when you were off gallivanting-“

“I wasn’t  _gallivanting_.” Chanyeol interrupts.

“I’m trying to keep this PC, Channie, so listen. I was talking to him last week and he was saying he needs a new DJ, someone who can mess about with sound programmes and all that tech-stuff. You know, like you do. So are you in?”

“I just got this job, I can’t quit this early.”

“So don’t quit. Do both. Work the system. It’s a good offer, Chanyeol, you should think about it.”

“Did you do this for me or were you just looking for an excuse to go to that club more often?”

“Aha, well,” Baekhyun laughs down the phone, tone sheepish. “Two birds, you know? Does it matter? You get to do something a little less high risk for better money, and I get to use you for requests. It’s a solid deal.”

Chanyeol snorts softly. He shouldn’t have expected any less from Baekhyun, really. They had been friends since they were teenagers but sometimes Chanyeol thinks that’s because he’s the only one that ever put up with Baekhyun for more than five minutes.

“You’re not going to let me say no, are you.”

“Not a chance. So you’ll do it?”

“Yeah, I’ll do it.” Chanyeol says. “I’ll do it. But I can’t start this week.”

Baekhyun whoops down the phone and Chanyeol almost rolls his eyes, forgetting that his friend could not see him from the other end of the line.

Even from day one, Chanyeol prefers the job at the club more than the job at the theatre. Baekhyun was right, the pay  _was_ a lot better, and this way Chanyeol felt that his life was in safe hands. Not much danger behind the pre-owned DJ setup, at least not of the regular sort.

His hours are irregular, the boss had given him a fair amount of flexibility to fit in with his other job provided he could stay until a little before closing, so the crowd that Chanyeol saw on the floor changed every night he worked.

Sundays were the least hectic, the throng consisting of the unemployed mostly, or teenagers that had been lucky enough to come when security was lax. A lot of the regulars came for two or three hours before reluctantly leaving before the AM so they didn’t wander in to work or school the next day, kicking off their week with eye bags so deep they almost hit the floor.

Chanyeol was surprised to find that Wednesdays were almost as busy as the weekends proved to be.

“It’s stress-relief.” The boss, who Chanyeol later found out went by the name Minseok, told him.

Minseok hadn’t been what Chanyeol was expecting when Baekhyun had described him over the phone. He looked too young to be running a bar, with his round, dumpling-like face and boyish grin that showed off his gums. Chanyeol was shocked to find out that Minseok was two years older than himself.

“What?”

“Stress relief.” Minseok repeats, idly wiping the bar down. “It gets to the middle of the week and people are starting to get tense. So they come here, do what they have to do, and go to work the next day feeling a little easier.”

Chanyeol didn’t know about that. As far as he was concerned, going to clubs, especially places like this one, did the exact opposite. Still, maybe that was just him. Baekhyun had always told him that he got things a little backwards more often than not.

“Speaking of...” Minseok says, and this gets Chanyeol’s attention. Minseok’s chewing his lip like he’s not quite sure how to go about whatever it is he wants to say, but in the short time he’s been working at the Black Pearl, Chanyeol also knows that Minseok likes to make everyone’s business  _his_ business.

“Shoot.”

Minseok continues to wipe at the same area of the bar that he had been for the past fifteen minutes. “I’ve seen you with Kim Jongin once or twice.”

Chanyeol pops his mouth open, unsure why Minseok was bringing that up. “Twice, yeah. Why?”

Again Chanyeol can see Minseok struggling to go about this the right way in lieu of seeming desperate for information. “Is there something between you? More than stress relief, I mean.”

“No.” Chanyeol answers immediately. He scratches the back of his head under Minseok’s returning scrutiny. “Honestly. We uh, you know. We...fooled around a couple of times, but no. There’s nothing  _between us_.” He finished, making air quotes half-heartedly.

Minseok visibly relaxes. “That’s good. Keep it that way.” Chanyeol almost opens his mouth to ask why, but then Minseok’s hand is in his face. “It’s not your business.”

Chanyeol almost asks if it’s  _Minseok’s_  business but thinks better of it. It wouldn’t do to go insulting the boss, even Chanyeol knew that.

He wanted to ask what Minseok had meant about Jongin, but he was right – it was none of Chanyeol’s business. He didn’t even think Jongin remembered his name. Hell, Chanyeol would have been surprised if Jongin had even remembered his face.

He comes in one night, of course, a Saturday just a few hours before closing. On one hand, it let Chanyeol know that Jongin had a life outside of the club scene, or at the very least he had a life outside of the Black Pearl. On the other hand, it almost meant that it was just Chanyeol’s dumb luck that he had run in to him those other times.

If he had known that someone like Jongin would prove to be  _impossible_ to get off of his mind, that thoughts of Jongin touching him and being touched by him got him through long shifts in the bathrooms of the theatre, then perhaps he would have never have gotten involved in the first place and would have made do with blurry memories of high school and college hook-ups and not-quite-partners.

How could the girls with soft thighs and long nails from his past match up with the sharpness of Jongin’s teeth and tongue now? How could the boys with the flat stomachs and tight grips ever pin him the way one look from Jongin could?

It was ridiculous, Chanyeol knew as much, but his libido wasn’t as quick to get the message so when Jongin strolled in with a tight t-shirt and even tighter trousers, who could blame Chanyeol for dropping a beat or two on the decks.

His steps are already unsteady and Minseok closes the hatch to the bar ten feet away extra loudly in order to get Chanyeol’s attention. He raises an eyebrow, and Chanyeol’s not entirely sure what it means, but whatever it is involves a whole lot of Minseok wanting Chanyeol to having nothing to do with Jongin.

Chanyeol grins, albeit a little lopsided and uncertain, raising his left hand with his fingers in an OK gesture.

He gets it. Stay away from Kim Jongin. Chanyeol can deal with that. He doesn’t understand it, but it’s clear that it’s his ass on the line if he goes against the boss’s orders, and whilst screwing around with Jongin is entirely appealing, although admittedly slightly damaging, having a bit of extra cash in his pocket is slightly more so.

Chanyeol doesn’t look at or for him for the rest of the night, keeping his eyes on his hand and keeping mistakes to a minimum. He’s getting the hang of this whole DJ thing, and speed bumps aside, it’s enjoyable enough to consider poking around for other positions.

When closing time comes around and the rabble start to file out of the doors in snapped high heels and scuffed second hand dress shoes, Chanyeol starts to close up the decks before stuffing the things that couldn’t be packed away in the store room.

“Lock up when you’re done, will you, Chanyeol?” Minseok calls from somewhere near the front, shutting the front door tight behind him mere seconds after Chanyeol hollers back his reply.

Chanyeol considers shooting a text to Baekhyun, but if he’s not out on a Saturday Chanyeol can place all his bets on his spending a night alone in his apartment with only his laptop for company, so that plan becomes a quick three steps of finishing up with the stock, locking the club, and going home.

Step one and two go off without a hitch, but it’s step three that trips Chanyeol up when he locks the back door and attempts to make his way to the front where the taxis are lined up like ants. There were no streetlights back here, and Chanyeol almost trips over a pair of feet attached to a figure kneeling in the alley.

He’ll wonder five minutes later if it was rude, but Chanyeol already had his fingers digging in his pocket for his phone, pressing a button on the side to cause the screen to light up and urge him to unlock.

Maybe the glow from his phone's backlight didn't help, but Jongin looked  _awful._

Chanyeol deduced that the vomit at his knees was his and his knuckles were scraped raw from propping himself up on the stone wall so he didn’t bash his head against it every time his stomach turned against him and he had to heave to empty it. Chanyeol didn’t know if Minseok’s Unofficial Rules counted outside the club, or counted in situations like this, so it was with all the tentativeness of a mouse in a minefield that he dared to open his mouth to ask if Jongin was alright.

“Fantastic” Jongin spits, literally, “fuck off.” Chanyeol scrunches up his nose. 

“I’d believe you a whole lot more if you could stand up.” He says, shining his phone once more in the direction of Jongin’s face. “I’m guessing you can’t, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”

Jongin found the energy to lift his head to glare in Chanyeol’s vague direction. He lets out an agitated hiss between his teeth.

“It’s you. Of course it’s you.” Whatever he was about to say next got swallowed up in another series of painful gags and Chanyeol made a split second decision before he lost his nerve.

He put his phone back in his pocket and then slips his hands underneath Jongin’s armpits. He was a lot heavier than he looked, Chanyeol realised, as he attempted to effectively manhandle him the short distance to the front street.

“Wh-what the  _fuck_  are you doing?” Jongin slurs, arching his shoulders in an attempt to break free. “Get off me.”

“Okay, so here’s the thing.” Chanyeol says. “One, if Minseok comes back here tomorrow and finds you unconscious, or  _dead_ , it’s going to be me that suffers because I’m the one that closed up. And two, I’d feel guilty for the rest of my life if I left you there to pass out or....die, so until you can actually walk more than three steps, you’re coming home with me. Again.”

“No I’m not.”

“Well you can’t really argue with me right now. Look, there’s a taxi  _right there_ , and we’re getting in it, alright? You can sleep whatever this-” Chanyeol waves a hand clumsily, almost dropping Jongin in the process, “whoops, sorry, sorry. Yeah, until you sleep whatever you’ve got in you off. The door will be open, you can leave whenever you want, but I’ve got a shower, and couch and  _heat_  and if you ask me, all that sounds a lot nicer than puking my guts up in the street.”

“I didn’t  _ask you,_ did I.” Jongin said, teeth ground so tight Chanyeol fears they were in danger of becoming power. Chanyeol balks slightly, but notes that Jongin is giving less resistance as he’s bundled in to the back of a taxi. He looks at Chanyeol like he’s the worst kind of dirt on the bottom of his shoe and mutters “I hate guys like you”, before promptly passing out with his cheek pressed up against the car window.

The taxi ride back to Chanyeol’s apartment feels a lot longer than it is in reality, and Chanyeol can’t help but to steal glance every few minutes. He tells himself it’s to make sure Jongin’s doing alright, that he’s still breathing and that his head isn’t being battered against the glass with every speed bump, but that’s only a half truth. The rest of it has more to do with the fact that Chanyeol  _can’t_  stop looking at him, despite his best attempts. Minseok’s not here to scold him for it, and Jongin’s not awake to dislike him for it, so Chanyeol takes every chance he has to map the soft curves of Jongin’s nose and mouth, and the sharp angles of his cheeks and jaw.

He looked a whole lot sweeter when he was asleep, and Chanyeol can’t help but think to himself as he’s manoeuvring barely conscious Jongin from a taxi in to his apartment whether he merely hated people, or if it was just something he reserved only for Chanyeol.

It made no sense either way, for he seemed to thrive in a social setting, and he hadn’t met Chanyeol enough times to find any real reason to dislike him so vehemently. Jongin was too multi-faceted for Chanyeol to comprehend in the early hours of the morning so after he gets his front door open with mild to moderate difficult, and after putting Jongin on the couch in such a way that he wasn’t in danger of choking in his sleep, Chanyeol put aside any notions of trying to understand him.

Besides, he’d only be gone by the time morning came.


End file.
